


In You I Taste God

by Mount_Seleya



Series: Winter's Song [3]
Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Blowjobs, Facials, Gentle Sex, Jaime's mild dyslexia, Jealousy, M/M, Makeup Sex, Misunderstandings, Not Beta Read, One-sided Jaime Lannister/Brienne of Tarth, POV Jaime Lannister, Painful Sex, Post-season 7, Showverse, Top Jaime Lannister
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-20
Updated: 2018-08-20
Packaged: 2019-06-30 00:40:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,645
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15740586
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mount_Seleya/pseuds/Mount_Seleya
Summary: Jaime talks to Brienne. Bronn sees and gets the wrong idea. They fight and reconcile. Set betweenA Doing WordandFrom Night.





	In You I Taste God

**Author's Note:**

> Someone, somewhere asked for a bottom!Bronn story, so here it is. Based on an as-yet-unreleased drawing by Oldstupidtemplar. Title from "Ava Adore" by The Smashing Pumpkins because apparently I'm still a moody goth 13-year-old at heart.
> 
> Update: Oldstupidtemplar has since posted the bottom!Bronn art in question [here](http://oldstupidtemplar.tumblr.com/post/177919604211/not-so-many-drawings-this-time-huh-but-these-are) (NSFW, obviously).

Mist snaked from Jaime's mouth as he huffed out a sigh. The bitter wind gnawing at his cheeks chased it away. Words swam up from the sea of black strokes on the raven scroll strung between his thumb and middlemost fingers. They darted away like fickle fish sinking back into the depths before their import could take shape in his mind.  
  
At last he lifted his eyes in defeat. Parchment crumpled as he closed his fist. Another breath congealed in the air. Wolf-adorned banners flapped as he starred out across the white hills sprawling away from the ramparts.  
  
"Ill news?" inquired a level voice from his side.  
  
"What news isn't ill these days?" Jaime drawled, turning his gaze to Brienne.  
  
It had been two moons since he'd arrived at Winterfell. He'd spent his first night locked in a cold grey cell. They'd let him out after Brienne had vouched for his honour, and, since then, he'd been serving the midday watch with her.  
  
"You can't read." Brienne's quiet, even voice held no judgment, only truth. "The sellsword always takes your letters." Her black-gloved hand reached out, bridging the short distance between them, palm upturned and expectant.  
  
Jaime blew out a steaming breath. Then he surrendered the scroll into Brienne's hand. She unfurled it carefully. He watched her clear blue eyes sweep back and forth as she read what was written in the neat strong script.  
  
"Your sister has been delivered of a son," Brienne said, lifting her gaze to meet Jaime's.  
  
He could hear the bite of disappointment in her voice. The hurt hidden behind the shield of calm resolve. She loved him, steadfastly and foolishly, and perhaps he'd loved her, once, in that time when summer still warmed the world. But ashes lay between them now, ashes and burning, screaming men and lean arms dragging him from flame.  
  
"What is the sellsword to you?" Brienne asked after a heavy span of silence.  
  
"What was Loras Tyrell to your dear Renly?" Jaime snapped. "Seems you're not very good at picking men to fancy." He'd disrobed before her at Harrenhal, strutted to the baths naked as sin, and yet now he felt bared to the soul.  
  
"We don't choose whom we love."  
  
Jaime narrowed his eyes. Tipped his head to one side. "It's not _love_ you care about, though, is it?"  
  
"I don't trust that fellow," Brienne replied. "He isn't reputable. He isn't decent. He cleans his fingernails with a _knife_." She paused a moment. Squared her shoulders. "And yet he followed you here. That has to mean something."  
  
"He means something," Jaime replied, the knot in his chest loosening.  
  
It was as a cage opening inside his heart. Like a bright golden bird flying free. Love had long been a shameful secret for him. _No more_ , he vowed. Wind licked against his face as he stood silent for a time. Brienne's soft blue gaze held his own. Then he closed the space between them. He lifted his hand to cup her cheek. Pressed a chaste kiss to the other.  
  
"That wildling has eyes for you," Jaime said fondly when he pulled away an instant later.  
  
Brienne's mouth flattened into a grimace. "Not my type," she ground out.  
  
Boots crunched to a halt at the end of the ice-skinned walkway. Jaime spun his gaze and caught grey eyes glaring back. Bronn lingered for a long, fraught moment, steam curling out of his mouth, hand perched on the hilt of his sword. Then his expression hardened into stone, and he turned and pounded down the stairs in swift, angry strides.  
  
Jaime chased after him like a fool. Swept through the bustling yard and into the castle. He wove through the dim grey corridors, drawn by the sight of his lover growing smaller, smaller, and smaller until he disappeared down a stairway. He bounded down the narrow coiling steps, heart hammering wildly in his chest, blood thundering in his ears.  
  
The door to his chamber was yawning open when he burst out into the dank and dimly-lit corridor. He rushed inside the tiny, cold room, lit only by the feeble light of a dying fire, and found Bronn kneeling, one hand under the mattress.  
  
"I'll take my chances tonight," Bronn said, pulling out a small leather pouch and rising to his feet.  
  
"It wasn't what you think," Jaime insisted in a breathless rush.  
  
"Twenty men crammed into an old storeroom. Mullen broke Hamm's nose last week. Took a bit too long having a piss. There's only the one bucket." Bronn tied the little jangling purse to his belt. Tugged his brown leather jacket back into place. "They'd both kill for the coin to get their cocks in some pretty young Wintertown girls."  
  
Jaime's mouth fell open. His brows knit together. He fumbled uselessly for words. His tongue felt too thick to speak. Bronn let his hand fall to the pommel of the sword at his left hip. A storm of fury and hurt raged behind his eyes. Silence crackled between them for span, haunting the close, shadowed room and making Jaime's heart race.  
  
"You've got yourself plenty of woman to warm your bed now, haven't you?" Bronn finally needled.  
  
"I'm not fucking Brienne!" Jaime snarled, anger cresting above his panic.  
  
Worn brown boots thudded against stone as Bronn advanced. He stalked over to stand a hands-breadth from Jaime. "I leave when you ask," he said, quiet and sharp as a knife. "Can't have everyone knowing your precious arse loves a good buggering."  
  
"I'm _not_ fucking Brienne," Jaime said again, voice falling to a raw, gravel-rough hush.  
  
Bronn tarried a moment. Swept his tongue along the inside of his cheek. Then he set his jaw and shook his head. Panic dropped like a lead weight in the pit of Jaime's stomach as Bronn shouldered past him toward the door.  
  
" _Stay_ ," Jaime pleaded, whirling around. "Share my bed." His heart quaked. "Tonight and every night."  
  
Another gulf of silence opened. Bronn hovered at the threshold of the chamber. His right hand rested upon the door. The long pale fingers seemed aflame in the low firelight. Brown locks curled against the sable collar of his cloak. He was nearing fifty, and yet he was the only sure thing in the world, as sure as the time-tested stones of the castle.  
  
"They've been sneering at me for twenty years," Jaime pressed.  
  
Bronn gave a soft little chuckle. He pushed the door shut with a slow creak. Metal shrieked as he engaged the bolt. "You like to pretend you're above it all, don't you?" he said, eyes glinting as he turned to face Jaime once more. "A mighty lion too proud to care what the poor stinking peasants think."  
  
Jaime's heart leapt into his throat. Boots scuffed against the flagstones. Warm calloused fingers framed his face. Bronn dragged him into a hot, consuming kiss, tongue plunging into his mouth, twisting and prodding against his own. Need built within him, sudden and brutal as wildfire catching light, making his cock strain against his breeches.  
  
"Get your fucking mouth on me," Bronn growled when they finally pulled apart.  
  
Cold hard stone met Jaime's knees as he sank obediently. Cloth rustled as Bronn undid the laces of his breeches. The stiff pink spear of his cock sprang free an instant later. Jaime tilted his gaze up, a tiny, wicked smile on his lips. He lifted his hand, then, fingers curling around the blood-warm flesh, thumb flicking across the drooling tip.  
  
Bronn groaned at the first flick of Jaime's tongue. His fingers cupped the back of Jaime's head. Letting his eyelids flutter shut, Jaime tipped forward and took Bronn's cock down his throat, until wiry hair brushed the point of his nose.  
  
"Oh, God," Bronn said, low and harsh. "Take it. Take it. Take my cock in your perfect whore mouth."  
  
_God_ , Jaime noted, gripping Bronn's hip as he worked. The sharp tang of salt washed across his tongue. He tasted of the sea, burned hot as fresh-forged iron, and every sinew of his body was lean, cunning, and quicksilver-swift. He'd had his legs the instant he set foot on the ship to Dorne while Jaime had spent hours retching into a bucket.  
  
It was a marvel he'd never seen Bronn for Ironborn before. He wondered if Tyrion had already divined the truth. There was so much he didn't know about his lover, so many secrets he hoped to unlay with kisses, licks, and soft words.  
  
Fingers knit in Jaime's hair suddenly. Jerked his head back with a rough tug. Bronn gave a filthy groan as he spent. Wet heat spattered Jaime's face in thick, strong pulses, streaking across his nose and cheek and right eye.  
  
"Was that truly necessary?" Jaime asked, craning a one-eyed glare up at Bronn a moment later.  
  
"Aye," answered Bronn simply, a smug grin playing at the corners of his mouth.  
  
Jaime rose to his feet. He moved to the washbasin on the table set against the wall. Wiped his face clean with the rag. Clothing slithered off behind him. Boots landed on the floor with twin _thuds_. Then the bed cracked faintly in protest. He dabbed the film of sweat from the slope of his brow. His cock was still achingly hard within his breeches.  
  
Something clattered. A soft hitching grunt followed. Jaime turned, then, and his breath caught. Bronn was stretched naked upon the brown furs, right arm propping up his upper body, left leg hiked to reveal the flat, furry gift of his arse. The small clay pot of grease was open on the nightstand. One finger of his left hand was lost halfway up his hole.  
  
"Going to just stand there, cunt?" Bronn goaded in a low thready croon.  
  
"Suddenly eager for a good buggering?" Jaime returned, all sand and raw dark hunger.  
  
Jaime fumbled with the laces on the boiled-leather bracer securing his false hand to his right forearm. Set the golden monstrosity down beside the washbasin with a solid _clunk_ and rolled the little red silk sock off his stump. Then he shed cloak, jacket, tunic, breeches, and boots in slow succession, letting them spill in a heap on the floor.  
  
He padded barefoot to the bed. Steel-grey eyes flicked up to meet his own. He stooped to give Bronn a melting kiss. Pulling away after a time, he rested his brow against Bronn's and asked, "When did you do this last?"  
  
"Shortly before I met your brother," Bronn admitted quietly.  
  
_Eight years_. Need seared white-hot down Jaime's spine. He arced his left hand around the back of Bronn's neck. Warm breath wafted across his lips. There was a tension coiled in Bronn's body. Jaime thought of the many, many times Bronn had fucked him since they'd become lovers, and resolved to make the taking good for him.  
  
"Get your bloody cock in me," Bronn finally demanded, reaching for the pot of grease.  
  
Jaime gave a huff of laughter. He climbed onto the the bed and nestled behind Bronn. Balancing his weight on his right forearm, he smoothed his palm down Bronn's flank, skated around the lean jut of his hip, and rounded his arse. "Right here?" he asked thickly, two fingers questing into the nest of crisp hairs to tease the tiny, dark furl.  
  
Breath hissed out of Bronn as Jaime slid the digits inside. Soft slick heat clasped his fingers like a velvet vice. He dipped his head, lips scraping a sloppy kiss on the cap of Bronn's shoulder, fingers stirring easy circles.  
  
After a slow, aching eternity, Jaime withdrew his fingers. He reached for the small clay pot where it lay on the furs. Scooping up a generous dollop of grease, he coated his straining cock with slow, thorough strokes. He pinched the root between thumb and forefinger, guided the head to the little winking hole, and kicked his hips forward.  
  
The world shattered into a blaze of glorious white bliss. All he knew was snug shivery warmth engulfing him. Then the sweetness faded, leaving him with the sound of harsh, hitching breaths and the sight of fingers tensed in the furs.  
  
"Shit, I'm sorry," Jaime bit out, disengaging his cock with a lewd wet sound.  
  
Bronn's left hand uncurled where it was braced against the bed. "S'alright, love," he said in a creaky hush.  
  
Jaime gathered another heaping gob of grease from the pot. Eased his fingers into the silken swelter of Bronn's arse. He fingered his lover into a slack sighing stupor, tormenting the small, firm swell rising from his foremost wall.  
  
Bronn still winced when Jaime pushed in a second time. Jaime gripped his flank just under the pit of his arm. Hissing pants burst from Bronn's mouth, and his lean ribs heaved in and out, and Jaime stayed his hips and kissed his shoulder.  
  
"It's alright," Bronn told him at last, voice tempered into a softness.  
  
Jaime sucked a bruise into the skin of Bronn's shoulder. "I love you," he said quietly.  
  
He sank his cock the rest of the way into the sweet molten clutch of Bronn's body with a series of jerking thrusts. Sliding his hand down Bronn's flank, he gripped the narrow hip and drew back, urging his lover into a better angle. Squelching smacks sounded as he set a gentle rhythm. Eyes screwing shut, he let out a long, guttural groan.  
  
Soon rough little grunts were spilling from Bronn's mouth. Jaime took him slow, rutting into him in deep, easy strokes. The twitching squeeze of his rim felt delicious as it kissed along the length of his cock with every slide.  
  
"Up," Jaime ordered in a hoarse snap, pulling out after a time and rolling onto his knees.  
  
Bronn did as he was bade, pushing himself onto his knees, gripping the old oaken headboard. Jaime slipped back inside slowly, smooth as a sword fitting into its sheath, watching rapt as the hole swallowed down his cock.  
  
Curling skeins of hair clung to the nape of Bronn's neck. The span of his back glistened with a sheen of sweat. Jaime skated a reverent palm down his spine as he rocked in and out gently, mapping the thin, silver scars gracing his skin. There were a dozen stories in the lines. Stories he didn't know how to read. A whole lifetime he longed to know.  
  
Slim hips eventually began rolling back to meet his thrusts. Animal grunts turned into a song of soft crooning moans. Then the lean body shuddered and stiffened beneath him, and a high, honeyed yelp rang off the stone walls.  
  
Jaime fucked Bronn through the sweet agony of release. Then his own crisis crashed over his body like a great wave. His hips halted, sharp and sudden, and he spilled his seed deep into his lover's arse, roaring out his pleasure.  
  
"We ought quarrel more often," Jaime said some time later, tonguing sweat from Bronn's nape.  
  
"Aye," Bronn allowed, "so long as it's your arse making peace."  
  
"I could get used to this." Jame dragged the pad of one finger over a nipple. "You make the most delightful noises." He was soft, now, but the solid back felt good against his chest, the warm sleeve of flesh perfect around his cock.  
  
"I'm an old man," groused Bronn. "I've got old aching bones and an old aching arse."  
  
Jaime chuckled. Mouthed one last bruise into the arc of Bronn's neck. He withdrew and fell back onto his haunches. Bronn staid put, hands on the headboard, thighs slightly parted. A white rill ran from his hole and snagged in crisp dark hair. Something wicked twisted in Jaime's loins at the sight. Grinning, he stabbed a finger into soft, yielding heat.  
  
"You greedy  _cunt_ ," Bronn seethed in a ragged undertone.  
  
"I still have the advantage of youth," Jaime drawled. "My cock will rouse again before yours."


End file.
